Uncharted Territory
by evenflo78
Summary: Set after CA:TWS. Tony throws a party because he's always throwing a party. Everybody shows up, including someone Natasha was beginning to wonder if she'd ever see again. Steve/Natasha Mostly fluff with a sprinkling of angst.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A fluffy(ish) short story for (belated) Valentine's day because I'm a shipper. These two, gah, so cute. I can't help myself. Planned on making this a one-shot, but then it ran away from me a little, so, I'm thinking five or six chapters. **

**I took some liberties with the characters but ultimately tried to stay pretty close to movie canon, with just a bit of OOC perhaps. I promise I'll be updating as often as I can. Next chapter is almost ready to edit. **

**Not my characters; just my imagination toying with their story. No money, only for fun. **

Natasha was...antsy. She was _never_ antsy. Well, no, that wasn't exactly true. She was always anxious before a mission, but that was a different sort of feeling. And whatever was fluttering around in her stomach didn't compare to the sensation she felt before a good sparring session either.

She was only going to say hello. That's what friends did, right?

Stark had thrown some sort of soiree with drinks and dancing and music because that's what Tony does. Natasha had sat at the bar and watched the crowd, sipping her vodka and occasionally running her fingers over the delicate satin of her dress because that's what _she_ does. Watch. Observe. Not dance or socialize or _mingle_, as Stark liked to call it.

Unless it was a part of the job; then she'd do whatever needed to be done to complete a mission. However, when it was just her, and, well, the hundreds of other people Stark had invited, she simply preferred to be alone. Of course she spoke when spoken to, but if the company wasn't wanted – which, face it, most of the time it wasn't – she was quick to send them on their way.

When she'd first taken her seat, Tony had come over to hover, insisting that, "even Bruce is mingling."

Natasha had raised an eyebrow at that. "And you think that's a splendid idea?"

"He's in control," Tony had replied, eying the man in question. "I think. I hope." And then he'd scurried off into the crowd, beelining towards Banner. Natasha had chuckled.

Pepper smiled that smile of hers, a knowing, motherly sort of smile. "He's right, you know? You should socialize. You can't hide forever."

"I'm not hiding."

Raising her arms in defeat, Pepper began backing into the swarm of dancing couples. "Let me know if you change your mind. I know someone who'd love to meet you."

"Not interested," Natasha replied with a snort. She turned back to grab her drink. "I'm good." That was just what she needed; Pepper playing matchmaker. "And I'm _not_ hiding," she said into her glass, even though Tony's ladylove was long gone.

A few minutes later, with Tony and Pepper a safe distance away, she turned around to people-watch. Everyone was there. Bankers, investors, a sorority from the local college because Stark rationalized the place needed some eye-candy, Banner, the boisterous Thunder God, whose voice was so loud, Natasha could hear him across the room.

Well, not everyone, she supposed, had made it to Tonypalooza, as he so creatively called it. Fury wasn't there, but he never came to these things. Barton was away on assignment. Hill was probably with Fury. Several of the other, more trusted agents, had taken masquerading jobs across the globe and therefore could not make it.

S.H.E.I.L.D. was down but not dead, and HYDRA was still very much in working order. They'd targeted people all across the world since its supposed fall six months ago. Only the smaller groups, of course, as S.H.I.E.L.D. recovered its manpower. One-man missions only, at Fury's insistence. They couldn't afford to lose anymore than they already had. Aside from that, trust between former colleagues was still very much an issue within what remained of S.H.I.E.L.D.

And then there was Steve Rogers. His absence was expected. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since Fury's "funeral." Oh, she'd heard news of him. She kept her ear to the ground, knew he was chasing The Winter Soldier, seeking the truth, ever in search of a way to save his childhood best friend. Natasha wasn't so certain Bucky _could_ be saved, but that was something The Captain had to figure out on his own. Whatever torturous experimentation Bucky Barnes had been subjected to in order to turn him into The Winter Soldier left its mark on a person. _Scars, even._ Natasha knew that from experience. She reckoned no one could convince Steve Rogers someone was beyond redemption, though, perhaps not even the man himself.

So, about an hour later, when the doors on the far side of the room had opened, and the bodies on the dance floor parted enough to clear her line of sight to the newly arrived guest, she'd very nearly wasted her drink along the front of her dress. And she _never_ wasted vodka.

She just hadn't expected to _see_ him.

Rogers looked good, of course; he always did. Handsome as ever in a black suit, sans tie, and white tuxedo shirt, which Stark, no doubt, had provided for him. Natasha observed him with keen eyes as he politely smiled and greeted everyone who approached him. He was made for this sort of thing, not a single person he spoke with, however briefly, ever caught on to his discomfort. He is, after all, Captain America, and Rogers wore the title well.

Natasha contemplated walking over to rescue him once or twice when a co-ed or two put hands on him and whispered things that made his ears turn so red she wondered how he kept his cool. But it was just too much fun to watch him squirm. Besides, ever the gentleman, he always managed to bow away from the pawing girls while leaving them with their dignity – and his – in tact.

"Go away," she said, not bothering to turn and face the expensive suit approaching from her left.

"You look like you could use a drink."

Natasha rolled her eyes, taking them off Rogers for the first time since his arrival and very much annoyed at having to do so. "Which is why I already have one," she said, spinning in her seat to face the new thorn in her side.

"How about a dance?" Blue eyes and dark hair asked. Handsome, if Natasha was affected by that sort of thing, but she wasn't.

She didn't bother answering, instead opting to hold his stare, face expressionless, if a bit miffed at the interruption. She had better things to do, after all.

The thing about eye contact is simple. Some say it's sexy, but after about thirty seconds of an intense and unblinking stare – especially hers, Natasha thought smugly – most people became uncomfortable, intimidated even.

The David Gandy look-a-like was no different, and shifted his stare to the ground. "Bye-Bye," she sang, drifting her attention elsewhere. She didn't bother waiting for him to walk away; she knew he did.

Thirty minutes after arriving, the current object of her surveillance turned her direction. Perhaps he felt her stare. Perhaps not. Natasha did nothing to hide the fact she'd been watching him. Steve met her eyes, held them. They both smiled, his genuine and wide, hers small and quirked. Natasha tilted her head in a slight nod and he did the same. Then Sam Wilson touched his shoulder to get his attention and the connection was broken.

Natasha waited for him to come speak to her, preferring to keep her perch on the bar stool because of its vantage point. But he never came, and thirty minutes after their non-conversation, Steve Rogers left the room. And thirty minutes after that, a little hurt and mildly pissed, so did Natasha.

Which brought her to the hallway where she paced now, her heels clacking slightly on the floor. She knew where he slept in Stark Tower when he was in town. They'd never been residents at the same time, but each of them at some point in time over the past six months had found refuge in Tony's pretentious skyscraper. It was one of the most secure places in the world, despite being so inconspicuous.

Everyone had tried to keep their own places in the beginning, but ultimately their safety had warranted otherwise. For Natasha, it'd been no choice, even from the beginning. Sure she could've hopped from place to place – which she in fact did when the mood struck – but all her covers had been blown so it was more difficult to disappear without going completely off radar.

Steve's apartment had been compromised a few months back, and he'd consequently moved his things to their, for lack of a better term, headquarters. Aside from that, the Avengers initiative was still, albeit it not without faults, going strong, and having the team under one roof made things simpler.

"Stupid," she mumbled to herself, turning back towards her room for the third time. Maybe he didn't want to speak to her. Maybe he wanted to be alone. Maybe... maybe she was being an idiot. Suffering indecision was so unlike her. It was after midnight and her feet were killing her, and she was only going to take a few minutes to greet him, and maybe give him a piece of her mind. She turned back around.

"Natasha?"

Busted. She didn't jump. She didn't.

**To be continued...**

**Review if you can. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the alerts and reviews. I'm glad you decided to click on this little story. **

**I'm doing the editing myself, so please forgive anything I missed.**

**As usual, not my characters.**

**On with the show...**

He'd heard her shuffling around in the hallway. Well, he'd heard _someone_.

Steve was just shutting off the shower when his senses went on alert. Mumbling outside his apartment, steps starting and stopping, coming his direction and then going the opposite way. He wasn't too worried about an intruder, as one had to have specific access to this wing of Stark Tower, so he took his time drying off and dressing before going to investigate.

He honestly hadn't expected it to be Natasha but was pleasantly surprised that it was.

"Natasha?" he called, noticing when she started slightly at the sound of his voice.

"I couldn't sleep."

Steve raised an eyebrow, noting her dress, a coppery gold color he found difficult to define. "Have you even tried?" She looked beautiful, devastatingly so. Not that he'd ever tell her that. "Do you always sleep in an evening gown?" he asked, simply for teasing sake.

She made a face, her strides long and certain as she closed the ten feet separating them. "You didn't let me finish." Without invitation, she waltzed past him and into his apartment, bumping his shoulder in the process. "Isn't it past your bedtime, old timer?" she asked instead of elaborating.

He chuckled, closing the door behind them. He'd missed her. "Isn't it a school night, squirt?"

Natasha let a small laugh slip past her lips. "You're getting better at this."

"Practice makes perfect." She hummed in agreement as she made her way to his fridge and pulled out a beer, popping the top and tossing it with perfect aim into the trash bin. "Help yourself," he said, feigning annoyance.

"Want one?"

He sat on the sofa and hit the mute button for the T.V. "Sure. I'll take one of my own beers."

She passed it over his shoulder, then somehow managed to hop over the back of his couch in that dress to sit next to him, her shoes landing squarely on his coffee table, feet crossed at the ankles. "Whatcha watching, Cap?" She snatched the remote from his hand and started flipping through channels at lightning speed.

"Nothing, apparently." He took a sip of his beer. "And get your shoes off my table."

Sighing heavily, Natasha slipped her shoes off into the floor, immediately settling her feet back on the table. "Better?"

He chuckled. "Feet, Natasha."

She did as he'd asked, placing her feet delicately on the floor. He hid his smile behind the bottle.

After a moment of silence, she whispered, "It's good to see you're not dead."

He figured that was as close as he would ever get to Natasha admitting she missed him. "If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of hard to kill."

She slanted her head his direction, smiling. "Good thing."

"It's good to see you, too."

Attention drawn back to whatever movie she'd chosen, her only reply was, "Yeah."

With just the T.V. on in the background, the relative silence was companionable for a while, each of them nursing their own beverages. Natasha finished first, and she took his bottle a few seconds later, momentarily getting up to toss them in the garbage.

Steve found he was glad she'd stopped by. He hadn't the opportunity to talk to her during his brief – and required according to Tony – appearance at the party, and though they hardly spoke now, he was happy with the company.

These past few months had not been without difficulties, and seeing her familiar, and (mostly) friendly face, was precious to him. Sam was a good friend, no doubt about it, but Steve and Natasha had connected on a different level, one he actually hadn't noticed he missed so much until it surrounded him once more, filling him with a kind of warmth he couldn't yet identify. Going through hell together did that to people, he supposed.

"They could create a whole new form of torture using women's dress shoes," she said, walking around the couch this time.

"Death by fashion?" he joked as she resumed her spot next to him. This time, however, her feet landed in his lap. "What're you – "

"Rub my feet."

"Pardon?" he questioned, trying not to squirm. Her feet were just right there. In his lap.

She wiggled her toes as if to accentuate her demand. "Come on, Rogers, they're just feet, and those shoes were agony."

He gingerly picked up one foot and then the other, experimentally pressing his thumb into her arches. She made an obscene noise, and he almost stopped, thinking he'd hurt her, until she slid boneless against the arm of the couch, her head propped on one of the accent pillows. "Why do you wear them if they're so uncomfortable?"

One eye popped open, which had slid closed only a second before. "Are you kidding me? They make my legs look sexy." She laughed when he cleared his throat and averted his eyes, trying not to take notice of her legs sprawled half in his lap.

Methodically, he massaged Natasha's feet, choosing to focus on the softness of her skin rather than the fragile bones beneath the tips of his fingers. Likely he could crush them with barely any force, and that kept his touch probably a bit more gentle than she'd have liked, though she never complained. Even still, he'd rather err on the side of caution. On occasion, he'd brave giving her ankles a slight squeeze, but never further. He felt a bit scandalous going even that far.

"So," she started, breaking the almost uncomfortable silence. At least for him it had been. How could someone who was so lethal, so deadly, have skin that felt so satiny? Steve wondered if her dress was just as soft. "How're things? Any luck?"

Steve was glad for the distraction and shook his head. "A few leads, dead-ends mostly. Caught wind of Bucky a few times, only to end up chasing his shadow. He always seems to be one step ahead of us."

Natasha made a noise of agreement. "If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be."

"I can't give up on him. I can't."

"I know." She wiggled her toes, urging him to resume his rubbing. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"He saved my life, Natasha. He was the only one who could have." People who were beyond rehabilitation most certainly didn't go around saving lives.

"Yeah," she said stiffly. "Well, he almost killed me. Twice."

Steve turned to face her, bravely meeting her fierce stare. "And if someone hadn't thought you deserved a second chance, where do you think you'd be right now?"

He felt guilty, almost immediately, for asking it, but Natasha knew better than most what it was like to be on the wrong path, to be controlled by an order. He'd read her file. Part of it, at least. Some of it he couldn't stomach. He shuddered to think it, but brainwashing and torture was a powerful weapon to use against someone, something no one was immune to, not even the great Captain America himself.

"I'm sorry, Natasha," he said. "I shouldn't have asked – "

"Dead," she answered, turning away from him to stare at the television. "I'd be dead."

She made to get up, but he stayed her by her feet, squeezing her toes tightly against his palms. "I don't want to fight with you," he said, by way of apologizing again. "Stay."

She gave a half eye roll and settled back against his sofa. "Fine," she agreed. "But only because you make one hell of a masseuse."

He smiled a bit shyly. "It's my first one."

"Quick study." She hummed and closed her eyes as he focused his thumbs on a particularly tight spot near the top of her feet. "Magic fingers."

He tried not to let himself blush. Probably failed. "How about you? Figured out who you are yet?"

She snorted lightly. "I had twelve new covers within two months. Haven't had much chance to use them yet." She shrugged and something dark passed over her eyes. "I guess it's just different now."

He knew what she meant so he didn't pry. Natasha had sacrificed a lot with the downfall of S.H.E.I.L.D. Probably more than most. So much of who she was, what she had done, was tied up in everything that had been exposed, and he knew she likely questioned every mission she'd ever had since coming on board with S.H.E.I.L.D.

"I never did get the chance to thank you," he said. She gave him a strange look. One that was equal parts confused and frightened – if he ever dared to use that description for one of Natasha's looks. He went on to explain. "What you did was brave. Probably one of the bravest things I've ever seen. So, thank you."

She waved his words away. "Needed to be done."

"Seriously," he urged, wanting her to understand the depth of his gratitude. He hadn't been sure about Natasha in the beginning, but now he knew her and he felt bad for ever questioning her loyalty. "You should be proud."

"Don't get all mushy on me, Rogers." Her fingers toyed with the silky fabric covering her stomach, and his eyes were drawn to the subtle action.

Somehow he'd managed to make the infamous Black Widow uncomfortable. He allowed himself a small smile.

"So," he started, taking his cue to change the subject. "What're you doing up so late?"

"Me? I'm young and reckless. Aren't the elderly supposed to be in bed by sundown?"

"Haha," he mocked. "Your jokes about me being ancient never get old."

"They don't, do they?" She smiled. He smiled back. "Geriatric."

"Sprout."

"Grandpa."

"Tot."

"Fossil."

"Junior."

"Antique."

He paused for a moment, thinking. "Baby."

"Relic. Old goat. Geezer – "

"Okay. Okay." He held his hands up in mock surrender. "You win."

"I always do." She smiled sweetly at him, but her eyes were serious when she spoke again. "I didn't know when I'd see you again." Then she shrugged, as if what she said wasn't important. "Couldn't go to sleep without at least saying hi."

Steve knew it was huge for her to admit that, so he gave her a way out. No need for her to get mushy on him too. He didn't know how he'd handle that. He already admired Natasha more than he cared to admit. "Or getting a foot massage."

"Bonus. Definitely a bonus."

He chuckled, looking at her tiny feet in his huge hands. Her toes were delicate little things and her nails, almost as if in spite of that fact, were painted black. No doubt she could kill someone using her feet alone, but looking at them now, all dainty and small, he had trouble picturing it.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, trying not to laugh again. He took her toes between two of his fingers. "Was just thinking you have cute toes."

"I do not have cute toes. They're deadly and fierce and – "

He couldn't stop smiling. And despite feeling his face warm, he couldn't help replying, "Adorable."

Natasha looked offended. "Are not."

"Are too." To emphasize his words, he rolled her toes between his fingers and ran his nail up the arch of her foot. He was unprepared for her reaction.

"Gah." She barked out a laugh, struggling to pull her feet from his grasp. "Don't you dare."

He laughed loudly at her expression. Horror, utter and complete horror. "Your feet are ticklish," Steve accused.

"I will hurt you," she threatened.

He couldn't help himself. He couldn't. Not that he wanted to. "Are you ticklish, Natasha? Don't lie to me."

"You're so dead." She tried to scramble away but she was too late.

He had her arms pinned in less than a second, and her legs were next, half crushed by his body weight, though he was mindful not to truly hurt her. Steve goosed her ribs, and she went still. Then he tried her stomach, gently tickling above her naval. She didn't stir and he could've pouted at the disappointment he felt. Damn, he was so sure he'd found her weakness.

"Only my feet," Natasha said, her breath tickling his neck. He lifted his eyes to hers. "And I've killed people for less."

"I'm sure you have," he half whispered, finally noticing the position they were in.

His hand was on her stomach, fingers gently stroking the satin of her dress. He ceased the movement immediately, but couldn't bring himself to move off her just yet. Her breathing changed and so did his. His heart rate doubled.

The serum had enhanced him completely. His size and strength, his stamina and speed. Hearing and vision had majorly improved so he noted each of the tiny differences as they happened. Natasha's pupils dilated, her skin prickled with goosebumps. He did his best not to notice what else tightened in response, but her breasts were just right there and her dress was just so thin.

He noticed it all in only a moment, so he knew when her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and she said, "Get off me, Rogers, before I do something you regret," he knew she wanted to kiss him.

Noting the changes in his own body, Steve knew he wanted to kiss her just as much, if not more. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted something so badly. He inched closer, their noses nearly touching and loosened his hold on Natasha's wrists, all the while keeping his eyes locked with hers. He wondered, briefly before he spoke, what he must've looked like to her in that moment.

When he did speak, his words were a breath across her lips. "What makes you think I'd regret it."

**To be continued...**

**For what it's worth, I'm sorry for leaving it here. Mostly. Kind of. Well, a little bit. **

**Review if you can. I love reading your comments. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Many thanks for taking the time to read and review. You guys are great. **

**You all know they're not my characters, right? Just having some fun.**

**Here we go...**

This was a bad idea, Natasha couldn't help but think. A truly horrible idea. Had she flipped the switch from Just Natasha to The Black Widow? She didn't remember doing it, but sometimes it was simply second nature. Was she really trying to seduce America's golden boy?

Her head felt fuzzy. Either from the several vodka's (she never really counted them) she'd consumed at Stark's party or from the bone-melting foot massage, she wasn't quite sure. All she did know was, despite how warm his body felt leaning against hers, and despite how blue his eyes were or how inviting his lips looked, kissing Steve Rogers was on her list of things to never do again. Not ever.

Once had been enough, thank you very much. Especially considering his lips had been as soft as they looked and tasted damn near as sweet as one of his smiles. And the fact that she could almost spin sonnets – an Ode to the Magnificence of Steve Roger's mouth – after one (however brief) kiss, let her know that any more than that would be much more than she could handle. And Natasha could handle anything.

He was honor and truth and purity and all things right in the world. She was deception and secrecy and lies and everything dark in the world. She could only taint him by daring to taste his lips once more. But, _oh_, how she longed to.

When his lips brushed hers, slightly parted on his last word, she forgot all her reservations. Forgot every single reason why she shouldn't be kissing him. Then their breath mingled and his tongue crept past the safety of his lips to slide across hers and she lost it.

Her hands moved to grasp his face, maneuvering his head for a better angle while her fingers slipped into his hair. She made an embarrassingly girlish sound in the back of her throat, but when he groaned, deep and heavy, into her mouth, his hand clenching almost painfully at her waist, she couldn't find the will to care.

She couldn't breathe. He tasted like freedom, and his tongue, his warm breaths mixing with hers, set something loose inside her, something that had been caged for far too long. He paused long enough to breathe out her name on a sigh and her head spun. _Closer._ She needed him closer.

Natasha shifted her legs, slipping one on either side of his, best as her dress would allow, moaning again when the bulk of his weight fell against her. His eyes lifted to hers, as if in apology, but she pulled his mouth back to hers. Perhaps he was as gone as she was, drunk from the kiss, from the feeling of lips and tongues moving in tandem, and the sensuality of his bulky body pressing hers into the sofa because she felt all of him, every hard line, every taut muscle and especially what was pressing against her leg. Despite him trying to hold part of his weight off her, he couldn't hide that.

Then something happened.

Her senses went on alert and she lifted her leg up high and around Steve, ripping the seam of her dress in the process. Good, she thought, easier access. Her fingers found the sheath, the smooth metal heated from being pressed against her thigh. Natasha broke their kiss long enough to let the blade fly, true and straight, until it lodged itself in the twelfth board to her left, between the coffee table and the arm chair.

Something hissed and scratched against the floor, disappearing into Steve's kitchen.

His voice was breathy, deeper than she'd ever heard it when he asked, "Did you just try to kill my cat?"

"I can't believe I missed," she answered, oxygen returning to her brain and helping to clear her muddled thoughts.

He sat up, his hair ruffled, then stood to retrieve her knife from the floor board. "I can't believe you almost killed my cat." A little tuft of hair was stuck on the end and he plucked it off, letting it fall to the floor.

She stood too, straightening her dress into something resembling a gown. The rip in the side didn't help, and she gave up. "When the hell did you get a cat?"

_God,_ her lips felt swollen. What the hell had she been thinking? She had to get out of here. Like, stat. _Now._ Why was she here? This was such a bad idea. Steve's kiss was still fresh on her tongue, but no matter how good it'd been, she knew it was time to go. If it happened again, there'd be no way she could stop. Probably not even for an alien invasion. Her face felt hot. So did everything else.

"It's a rescue," Steve answered, giving the feline a gentle stroke down its back. It arched towards the touch and Natasha felt a shiver of desire run up her spine. She really needed to leave. "Found it in the alley six blocks from here."

"Bringing home strays now, Rogers?" She made her way over to the counter where the cat was perched. She'd leave in just a second. The cat hissed and pawed at her as she reached toward it; she laughed and scratched it on the chin anyway. "Tony know about this?"

He smirked and she couldn't help but think he looked sexy as hell, hair all mussed from her fingers, face flushed, lips plumped, shirt rumpled. Who was she kidding? She was ready to pick up exactly where they'd left off and not stop until dawn, or maybe never. "JARVIS does."

"Wouldn't have pegged you for a cat person."

He shrugged, moving to lean against the counter next to her, their hips touching. "Saw it in a movie once." He peeked at her through his lashes, keeping his face turned away slightly. "The therapist said something along the lines of, if you can take care of a pet, you just might be ready for a relationship."

And that was probably her cue to leave. She went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water instead, taking down about half before tossing it to Steve. He tossed her the knife, and she sheathed it in one swift movement. Noting the cats one eye and maimed front leg she said, "Looks like you're doing a piss-poor job."

"He was like that when I found him." Steve tried to snag her wrist as she walked past, but she smoothly side-stepped him, heading back towards his living area. "Are you always armed?" he asked.

She smirked. "If I can help it." She reached for the door handle and paused.

She didn't know why she paused. Escaping his company, his close proximity, seemed like the smart thing to do, the _only_ thing to do. But forcing herself to do that proved to be a difficult feat. She silently cursed whatever tormenting emotions were swirling around inside her. This was exactly why kissing Steve Rogers was the gravest of mistakes. He'd compromise her, she knew he would. Her jaw tightened as did her resolve, and she grabbed the knob, wrenching open the door.

Or at least she tried to.

She forgot how fast he could be when he wanted to.

Steve's body was warm, pressed against hers. His arms blocking her in on either side as they held the door shut. "Why are you running?"

"Let me go, Steve," she said in a low tone, calm and even. It was a testament to her training that her voice didn't waver. Her eyes were closed, knowing there was no way to shield everything. "Call Sharon."

Natasha knew he _had_ called her; they'd gone out on exactly two dates, and now Sharon was dating one of her coworkers in the CIA. She suggested her anyway, knowing she was precisely who Steve needed. Strong, smart, sexy, and most of all not tragically and emotionally handicapped when it came to matters of the heart.

She felt him sigh heavily. "She's not who I want?"

"She's who you need," she defended, finally opening her eyes, even if it was only to stare at the door. "Who you deserve."

"Look at me, Natasha." Despite the fact that it made her look like a petulant child, she shook her head no. Steve cursed quietly and spun her by her elbow anyway, locking her against the door by her shoulders. She was forced to meet his eyes then, angry and half desperate to get away. "Don't I get a say in this?" he seethed.

She'd seen him like this before, an odd sense of déja vu settled over her, but this was different. So much so. "Sometimes what you want and what you need aren't one in the same."

He gave her a look then, one that told her many things and had her expecting some sort of awe-inspiring speech to come from his lips at any moment. When all he said was, "What are you so afraid of?" she knew why he'd pulled that face.

Shoulders squared, her hard eyes met his soft stare. "I'm not afraid." But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Half of her life had been lived in fear, and though everyone mistakenly thought she feared nothing, the truth of the matter was she feared almost everything. The other half of her life had been built on deception, so she stood her ground, despite the lie tasting awful on her tongue. "I'm not afraid of you."

His hands slid from her shoulders, and didn't stop until they were wrapped gently around her wrists. "Then what's holding you back? Don't lie and say that was just a kiss."

It was so much more than just a kiss. "It was. Just. A. Kiss." He eyed her, then looked down at where her fingers had unthinkingly twined with his, then met her stare again. She jerked her hands out of his. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"I know what I want," he said instead, moving close enough that she could feel the heat of his body all around hers. Her head was already shaking when he whispered, "I'm looking at what I want."

All of a sudden, the room felt hot. She felt hot, like she'd suffocate. She couldn't get enough air. Was this what claustrophobia felt like? Hyperventilating? She didn't know what it was, but the air in the room surrounding her was smothering her. She put both hands on Steve's chest and shoved, and though she knew she hardly had the strength to move him if he didn't want to, he stepped back to give her the space she needed. She paced the room, moving to stand in front of the window so she could see the wide expanse of night sky just out of her reach.

"You don't know me," she mouthed, not quite able to make out his expression reflecting in the window. He was just a man-shaped blob. It made saying what she needed to say a little easier.

"I want to."

"No you don't. Not really." she crossed her arms over her chest, curling in on herself as much physically as she was trying to emotionally. "I'm a murderer. A liar. A thief. An assassin. I've seduced to kill and will so again. I'm a shape-shifting person who's whatever she needs to be to complete an assignment. I've killed hundreds, maybe thousands – though I've lost count, I still see their faces – a lot of which were innocents. There is nothing worthy in me of you." Her eyes closed of their own accord and she breathed out a heavy sigh. "Trained, tainted and forged by the most vile of people, I am The Black Widow."

His reflection became clearer as he stepped closer, still not crowding her as he was before. "No you're not. You're Natasha. Beautiful, fearless, heroic. Deadly, sure. " His voice didn't waver, as if he believed every word he was saying. She took a shuddering breath. "You're a woman who will likely spend the the rest of her life trying to right a wrong that isn't your fault."

Her eyes were stinging and when she opened them again, the world outside looked blurry. Natasha couldn't be sure if she was on the verge of crying because she wanted to believe him, or because he was deluded enough to think it was true. "There's nothing good in me."

"Stop it."

"You deserve more than what I can give you, which is nothing."

"Natasha, stop it."

"You're righteous and good and honorable and trustworthy. I'm none of those things."

"Shut up," he said, voice raised enough that she flinched. "Just..." he made an effort to lower his voice. "What is wrong with you? Stop being so self deprecating, it's so unlike you. Who're you to decide?"

She smiled then, and turned to face him. "Just goes to show how well you know me. No one can punish me, torture me, _hurt_ me, as much as I am able to myself. I'm the best and I've perfected the art of being self deprecating."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut as if aggravated. "Nat – Natasha, I... Your past doesn't define you. You're so much more than you give yourself credit for. Sure, you've done awful things, terrible things, but that's not who you are. Not on the inside. If you'd just – "

"No, Steve. You're Captain America, symbol of all things right in this world, all the things worth fighting for. You're an amazing person. Good to the core. You deserve someone who's wholly good, too, who doesn't struggle with each and every decision she makes, wondering if it's right or wrong because she doesn't know the difference, not really. You're too good for me."

Perhaps it was his next words that crumbled her will. Perhaps it was just a matter of time before she lost the battle anyway. Either way, when he said. "I'm just a man, Natasha, just a man," her knees felt weak, and it was only his hands reaching out to catch her that kept her from crumbling to the floor. "And you're so very wrong about yourself. You _do_ know the difference, I see you... I just... _see_ you. You're who I want."

And then he kissed her and her eyes felt wet, wetter than she could ever remember them feeling. And she kissed him back because how could she not? She didn't know what love was, not in actuality. In theory she'd always thought it was for children. But whatever warmth that was blooming in her chest, in her stomach, in her toes, _everywhere_, whatever that was was not for children. It was only for Steve. And she didn't know how to let that go. She didn't know how to walk away from that.

So she didn't. She stayed. And when his tongue swept over her bottom lip and he pulled back to meet her eyes all she could say was, "I don't know how to do this. I've never..."

"Me either," he answered softly, knocking his forehead gently against hers. "But I think we're smart enough, between the two of us, to figure it out. Together."

And though she still had her doubts, she thought maybe, _just maybe_, he was right.

**A/N: Ugh. I have no words after writing this. It took me a long time to get the ending of this chapter how I wanted it, and even now, after such a long delay, I'm not quite sure I'm happy with it. Please take the time to drop a line and tell me what you think, love it or hate it, it is what it is. Hopefully it's not horrible.**

**I think one more chapter, maybe two, will get me to where I want to officially finish, but we'll see how much trouble these two give me.**

**Thanks for reading! HUGS!**


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